


Where They Are Just And Loyal

by ChubbyByChoice



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Harry Potter - Freeform, Harry Potter AU, Harry Potter alternate universe, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Slow Burn, the slowest burn imaginable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:41:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25351051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChubbyByChoice/pseuds/ChubbyByChoice
Summary: Harry Potter of Number Four Privet Drive was perfectly normal, thank you very much. He was an orphan, it was to be admitted, but a properly ordinary orphan, whose parents had died in a car crash. He had never exhibited any particularly notable talents, much to the delight of his aunt and uncle, Petunia and Vernon Dursley.The Dursleys seemed to be quite pleased with their perfectly normal nephew; almost as much as they were with their aggressively average son, Dudley. Harry Potter was the last person you’d expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because he just didn’t hold with such nonsense.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	1. Perfectly Normal, Thank You Very Much

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate Universe where everyone is canon compliant but Harry. Hijinks ensue.

Harry Potter of Number Four Privet Drive was perfectly normal, thank you very much. He was an orphan, it was to be admitted, but a properly ordinary orphan, whose parents had died in a car crash. He had never exhibited any particularly notable talents, much to the delight of his aunt and uncle, Petunia and Vernon Dursley.  
The Dursleys seemed to be quite pleased with their perfectly normal nephew; almost as much as they were with their aggressively average son, Dudley. Harry Potter was the last person you’d expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because he just didn’t hold with such nonsense.

—————————————————

“That seems to be in order.” The wrinkled goblin above Harry grimaced, closely examining the golden key Hagrid had handed over. “I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook -“ he started, before Harry cut him off.

“I do have a few questions, as it were. What is your annual percentage yield on savings accounts? And do you have passive income investments set up to diversify my assets?”

The goblin paused incredulously, key dangling from his lanky fingers, as if he was unused to perfectly standard portfolio options questions. Harry had sat through enough dinners with Mr. and Mrs. Mason, Uncle Vernon’s banking manager and his wife, to know a bit about asset investment.

“Not to mention, what exactly is the backing system of your currency? It isn’t literally the gold standard, is it? Your Galleons do seem to be gold, or at the very least gold-plated...”

—————————————————

“Beetle eyes, powdered unicorn horn... Oh honestly.”

Hagrid looked over inquisitively, as if cryptid byproducts were everyday household necessities. Harry scanned his equipment list, brows furrowing deeper.

“Quill, spell-correcting charms prohibited. Inkwell, anti-splatter inks encouraged. Parchment, minimum of — 20 feet?!” Harry rolled up the paper with an exasperated snort. “Honestly, they’re having me on, right?” 

When Hagrid’s reply was not immediately forthcoming, he shoved the list into his pocket and muttered “First thing tomorrow, I’m finding a proper stationary shop. Absolute rubbish.”

———————————————————

“My father’s next door buying my books, and Mother’s up the street looking at wands. Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully Father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.”

While Harry could certainly understand an appreciation for a well-maintained domicile, in his opinion the drawling boy’s rapturous veneration of cleaning supplies bordered on the excessive.

“Have you got your own broom?” The boy pressed, pointed nose jutting encroachingly into Harry’s personal space.

“No, I tend to prefer a vacuum myself. It didn’t occur to me that I might need it in the dormitories, though. Don’t they have staff for that?”

The pointed faced boy looked at him as if he’d expressed a desire to eat a live toad.

“I suppose I could make room in my trunk for a dust buster.”

———————————————————

“Just yer wand left - oh yeah, an’ I still haven’t gotten yeh a birthday present.”

“You got me a cake.” Harry pointed out flatly.

“Yeah, that your fat hog of a cousin ate half of, mind. I got ter get yeh something proper. Tell yeh what, I’ll get yer animal. Let’s run in Eeylops, we can take a pop at the owls and see if they suit yeh.”

Harry had thought that particular line of the supply list had been some sort of curricular humor. “Exactly what is the purpose of owls?”

”Dead useful, they are, and a sight more fashionable than the other critters allowed in the dormitories.” He ushered Harry through the jingling doors of Eeylops Owl Emporium.

Harry was met with the overpowering stench of avian byproduct. “Absolutely not.”

———————————————————

One hour later, Harry strode out of Myrtle’s Magical Menagerie with a small, respectable garden snake wrapped around his wrist. No muss, no fuss, no smell.

“What’re yeh gonna name him?” Hagrid asked.

“He said his name is Silas.” he responded.

“He said!” guffawed Hagrid, smiling and shaking his head as they walked.

Harry had clearly missed some joke. Silas had introduced himself right in front of Hagrid. He supposed talking snakes must be the norm in the wizarding world. None of the rats, bats, or cats in the store had spoken up, though.

———————————————————


	2. The Fractional Platform

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Personally, I’m looking to be put into the House with the absolute least expected of me.”
> 
> Hermione frowned. “Well, I suppose that would be... Hufflepuff?”
> 
> “Hufflepuff it is.”

“Nine and three-quarters, honestly. Completely irrational.”

After fumbling his way through the brick pillar onto the fractional station platform, Harry boarded the scarlet steam engine marked Hogwarts Express. He sought out the first uninhabited compartment he could find, giving a wide berth to the round-faced boy on the platform wailing about a lost toad.

As the whistle sounded, Harry settled in with Hogwarts, a History for some light reading, lulled by the rhythmic rattling as the train sped past hills and highlands speckled with cattle. Around noon, a trolley woman came through with a cart full of confections he’d never heard of. He declined curtly, decidedly offput by the wriggling chocolate frogs.

As rambling countryside gave way to woods and brambles, Harry was startled out of his reading by a frantic knock at the door to his compartment. The round-faced boy was back.

“Sorry,” the boy gulped tearfully, “but have you seen a toad at all?” Silas, who was currently curled up napping in Harry’s carry-on luggage, perked up his head intently. “No, you can’t eat it,” Harry murmured.

Two minutes later, Harry’s peace was once again interrupted, this time by a frizzy-haired girl with an imposing presence and rather pronounced buck teeth.

“Have you seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.” She demanded.

“Seems everyone’s losing toads, these days.” Harry responded, eyes not leaving his book.

“Well, if you see it - is that Hogwarts, a History?”

———————————————————

Harry found himself in a no longer uninhabited compartment, as the round-faced boy - Neville Longbottom, apparently - and the chattering girl, identifying herself as Hermione Granger, had somehow invited themselves in and settled in for the long haul.

“Do either of you know what House you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around, and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad...” From Harry’s perusal of Hogwarts, a History, he’d concluded that the Houses seemed to be divvied up by character traits, ranging from ‘ambitious arsholes’ to ‘galumphing glory-seekers.’

“Personally, I’m looking to be put into the House with the absolute least expected of me.”

Hermione frowned. “Well, I suppose that would be... Hufflepuff?”

“Hufflepuff it is.” Harry nodded decisively.

“I’ve got to be in Gryffindor,” Neville glumly chimed in. ”My Gran would never let me live it down if I’m not. Both my parents were, it’s basically a family tradition.”

“I’m muggleborn, so I don’t have tradition to fall back on.” Hermione asserted. “But I want to be a famous witch one day, one of the best, to prove there’s no difference whether you’re pureblood or not.” Her eyes unfocused, gazing towards some lofty goal, before settling back on the boys. “I’ve tried a few spells already, and they’ve all worked for me, and I’ve learned all our course books by heart, of course -“

“You sound more cut out for Ravenclaw, to me.” Harry flatly remarked. “And what’s a muggleborn?”

The two stared at Harry. “W-well, you are, if you have to ask.” Longbottom stammered.

”A muggleborn is a wizard born to Muggle parents.” Hermione explained patiently.

“Oh, well I’m not that then, Hagrid said my parents were wizards. I’m orphaned, though, so I was raised by my Muggle aunt and uncle.”

“What’s your surname?” Longbottom asked.

“Potter.” Harry replied.

Their response was, in Harry’s opinion, disproportionate.

———————————————————

Halfway through Hermione soliloquizing her way through Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, describing to Harry a scenario that was unfolding as distinctly not car crash related, there was a rattle at the compartment door. In strode - 

“Broom boy!” Harry pointed at the pale blonde intruder.

Whatever the boy was about to say choked on the way out. “B-broom boy?” He spluttered. “You’re that barmy little twit from Malkin’s! Don’t tell me you’re the famous Harry Potter.”

“Harry Potter, yes. Famous, debatable.” Harry replied. “I suppose according to Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, I am.”

“Harry,” Round-face - no, Longbottom - hissed urgently. “That’s Draco Malfoy!” The name was whispered with the intonation that Harry should know or care who that was.

“That’s right, Longbottom, thanks for the proper introduction.” Malfoy sneered. “And these are Crabbe and Goyle.” He waved flippantly at the lumbering cronies behind him. “So, Potter, what’s got you shacked up with a disgraced member of the Twenty-Eight and... that?” He gestured at Hermione’s general being. “Couldn’t find a better compartment?”

“Something to do with toads, I think.” 

“I’d be more careful about who you choose to associate with, Potter. Some wizarding families are of better... stock... than others. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort.”

“Why?” Harry quipped.

Unprepared for the question, Malfoy stumbled. “Well, some families are... more pure, than others. You don’t want riff-raff rubbing off on you. Making you dirty.”

“How?” This line of questioning always worked on Dudley.

“It just... it just does, alright? There’s the purebloods, the blood traitors-“ this was accompanied by a pointed glare at Longbottom, “- and the Mudbloods.” Hermione and Longbottom recoiled at the slur. 

”Mudbloods, you say?” Harry mused. “So I suppose that’s what you mean by ‘dirty’, then. Indulge me. What exactly makes blood dirty?”

“Diluted by Muggles. Tainted. Unpure.” Malfoy spat.

Harry hummed. “So you’d say Mudbloods - muggleborns - are inherently less powerful than pure-blooded wizards, by and large?”

Hermione seemed to be wilting beside him, her eyes fixed on her hands. Longbottom kept darting his eyes between Harry and the blonde haired boy.

“Of course.” Malfoy puffed out his chest confidently. The two clods behind him nodded in solidarity.

“Right. Prove it.”

Malfoy gaped. “What?”

———————————————————


	3. A Bag of Soggy Mealworms to the Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oy! No toads here, mate! How about a frog instead?”

“Alright, we’ll have a clean match; no outside assistance, first to the toad -“

“Trevor,” Longbottom corrected.

“First to Trevor, wins.” Harry amended testily. “Otherwise known as ‘dinner’,” he muttered under his breath to Silas. Silas hissed a soft agreement before curling back up on Harry’s duffel bag.

Hermione and Malfoy stood at the ready, wands raised.

Crabbe and Goyle hovered in the doorway, unable to fit comfortably into the already cramped compartment.

“GO!” Harry bellowed.

“Accio Toad! Accio Toad! Accio Toad!” Malfoy flicked his wand spastically in every direction.

“That’s not going to work if there’s any obstacles between you!” Hermione stamped her foot. 

”You do better, then, Granger!” Malfoy went back to flailing his wand.

Harry and Longbottom followed Hermione out into the coach corridor, sidling past Malfoy’s cronies. She took a breath, held her wand to her chest for a moment, and tentatively gestured “Appare Vestigium!” 

A plume of golden smoke erupted from her wand, settling on the floor in glittering dust that revealed a set of small, splay-toed tracks. 

“Trevor!” Longbottom wailed, and took off in the direction the traces led.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look and followed after.

———————————————————

Harry wasn’t quite clear on how he had become entangled in what seemed to be a classist dispute with some heavy genesiological undertones, but he supposed Dudley was likely encountering similar feuds over social mobility at Smeltings. When it came down to it, he was now simply along for the ride.

Several coaches down, the trail of footprints became too muddled to follow, leading in and out of various compartments and, at one point, up a wall. Longbottom scrambled along, mumbling. “This way! No, that way? But then how did he get on the ceiling?”

A pair of taller, redheaded twins called jokingly from one door down. “Oy! No toads here, mate! How about a frog instead?” One let loose a Chocolate Frog, which hopped directly onto Longbottom’s head, while the other croaked and chortled.

Hermione cleared her throat. ”Neville? Do you have anything that belongs to Trevor? Something you would consider ’his’?”

Longbottom fumbled around in his pockets. After a moment, he withdrew a crumpled bag of mealworms. “Would this do?”

“Delightful.” Harry said, dripping with sarcasm. At least Silas did his own hunting.

Hermione crinkled her nose as she gingerly plucked the bag of insects. “That should do it.” With the bag at arm’s length, she whisked a complicated flourish with her wand and incanted, “Avenseguim!” The bag came to life with a spasm. It took off down the corridor, past the redheaded boys and under a pink-haired student’s skirt, before slamming repeatedly against the door at the end of the hall.

“You don’t want to go in there.” The pink-haired student cautioned, twiddling her wand as her hair shifted to a dusty purple. 

“But Trevor could be in there!” Neville wailed.

“That’s Professor Snape’s compartment. Whatever’s in there, you’re better off leaving it.” With a swish of her gold-trimmed robes and a vague wave, the older girl sauntered off down the hall. The bag of mealworms was still slamming itself against the door.

A shadow of a figure appeared in the haze of the compartment door window. Hermione gasped and struggled to unsheath her wand from her sleeve, but the damage was already done.

Professor Snape threw open the door to the compartment, only to receive a bag of soggy mealworms to the face.

———————————————————


End file.
